


Of Surprises and Miracles

by kirschtrash



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Disabled Marco Bott, Dork Jean Kirstein, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forests, Light Angst, M/M, Marco is a Sweetheart, Nature, POV Jean Kirstein, Physical Disability, SnK Minibang 2016, Snk MiniBang, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Writer Jean Kirstein
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 07:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7967095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirschtrash/pseuds/kirschtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean was never good with surprises. And for a surprise like this, he was sure he could never pull it off.</p><p>But for Marco Bodt, a man who learned to live by loving the world, he was willing to bring about a miracle - for he deserved nothing less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Surprises and Miracles

**Author's Note:**

> HERE is my contribution for this year's SnK mini bang! I collaborated with [kaptenkokos](http://kaptenkokos.tumblr.com), [enchantedchili](http://enchantedchili.tumblr.com), and [littlestpersimmon](http://www.littlestpersimmon.tumblr.com)! Working with them had been so much fun!! U can check their works out below!
> 
> [kaptenkokos](http://kaptenkokos.tumblr.com/post/150260119755/of-surprises-and-miracles-the-fireflies-that) // [enchantedchili](http://enchantedchili.tumblr.com/post/150267450958/and-despite-everything-marco-had-smiled-at-that) // [littlestpersimmon](http://littlestpersimmon.tumblr.com/post/150080289118/jean-was-never-good-with-surprises-and-for-a)

_You can do this - you totally can. You’re going to kill it tonight!_  
That was the only thought in his mind, as he buckled himself up in his car. Like some religious mantra, he chanted those precious words over and over, as he drove around town. If anything, it felt as if that belief were solidifying right into his bones. Maybe he _could_ be successful - he almost believed it.

Well, almost.

“ _I can’t do it!_ ” he wailed quite pathetically, as he arrived at his destination. Out of sheer helplessness, he struck his forehead against the steering wheel once, twice, and then some. Maybe if he did that hard enough - or more oftenly - he could knock some confidence in himself, to get out of the damn car at the least-  
Yet he couldn’t bring it in himself to do it. He had never done something this bold in his entire life, never believed that he’d ever do something like this in the first place. _Those kinds of things only worked in the movies,_ he thought, as he rubbed his forehead. _Would my effort ever be that special?_

The doubt made him turn his head, as he looked on at the house standing only a few blocks away from his car. It wasn’t a grand structure, with only two levels to its entire stature amidst a large, somewhat vacant field. But it had lush green vines covering one side of the entire house, clashing with the pale yellow walls. Each and every window it had was bordered with flowers, and no two flowers were the same. They even covered the white terrace, making it look like a gateway to some enchanted forest. From where Jean could see it all, it looked anything but inconspicuous. And yet, it was surprisingly humble.

It was _his house_ , after all. He smiled unconditionally.

Looking back at the steering wheel, he thought hard again. He could give up; he could say he had a sudden cold, turn around, and run back to his house. He could simply quit.

But quitting on him was no option - it never was.

That was the only thing he needed to step out of his Porsche 1600, and stomp all the way to that house. It was enough for him to climb the wooden stairs up the terrace with an energy he never had, but desperately needed. He stopped only when there was a foot’s gap between him and the door. That was when he actually felt his nerves tingle. He could feel the anxiety biting at him, snapping at the confidence he tried so hard to muster in the first place.

 _I can’t do it_ , his mind demanded.

_But he deserves this. He deserves nothing less._

After that, all he had to do was ball his fists tight. Then, he rang the doorbell.

The sound of birds chirping resonated throughout the house, once, and then twice, before the tune gave way to silence. Jean took two steps back, standing as straight as an arrow, awaiting his consequences.

He had just completed his secret prayer to any gods of luck willing to listen, when the door opened.

An old, plump lady appeared right in front of him, with big, brown and familiar eyes, and a splatter of freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. Lines creased the edges of her mouth and her eyes, accentuating her old age. But her smile twinkled with gleaming youth when she looked at Jean.

Where one would have broken the silence with a soft greeting, the lady outright burst: “My, my, don't you look mighty handsome, Jean!”

Jean felt heat flood his cheeks, as he gave her a timid, yet comforting smile. He resisted the urge to dust his dungaree, and instead said, “Good evening, Mrs. Bodt - I- I hope I’m not too late…”

“Oh, nonsense!” she laughed, dusting her hands against her maroon apron. Running a hand through her unruly mop of jet black curls, she continued, “In fact, you’re just in time! Hold on...”

Turning around, she called out: “Dear! He’s here!”

“He is?” came a timid voice from inside the house - a voice that made Jean’s heart skip a beat.

The voice was soon followed by the subtle squeaks of rubber against metal. They persisted, until Jean saw a wheelchair enter his field of vision, stopping just at the edge of the front door. On it, sat a young man, almost at an age with Jean, clad in a crisp pastel green button-down shirt, and faded jeans. But the first and only thing that caught his attention were his eyes - well, that, and his freckles.

He couldn’t suppress a smile when he greeted him: “Hey, Marco.”

Marco smiled back. “Hey.”

Mrs. Bodt came in then, patting her son’s head affectionately. “So, you’re ready to go?”

To Jean’s pleasure, Marco nodded energetically. It was more than enough to make his breath hitch in his chest - with excitement, with anticipation, and with something else, too.

“Are you gonna tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope.”

“Aw, c’mon, Jean!” Marco whined. “At least give me a hint!”

Jean didn’t let himself get fazed by his misgivings. Instead, he laughed. “Then what’s gonna be the point of us going if I tell you what it is?”

“Well, a hint’s something different…” he muttered, as he rolled himself alongside Jean’s measured steps.

“You’re gonna have to wait!” Jean professed in a tone of finality, as they stopped in front of the car. Opening the door to the front seat, he then turned towards Marco. Looping his arms around his waist, he lifted him up from the wheelchair once Marco had secured his arms around his neck. After that, shifting him to the passenger seat was no hard ordeal, for he had done that many times before. But then, his skin wouldn’t stop tingling whenever it brushed past Marco’s, and his breath wouldn’t stop hiccuping in his chest whenever he felt him glance at his way. That was something new, something he couldn’t quite control himself. It would be sudden, and it would feel true - but he wasn’t sure what to call it yet.

Once comfortably seated, Jean slammed the door shut. He folded his wheelchair, and tucked it in the backseat. When he moved towards the driver’s seat, he heard Marco speak:

“Jean?”

With the way his tone demanded attention, Jean looked at Marco. He was looking at Jean with a tiny smile, but his eyes glowed with all the emotion he wanted to express.

His cheeks gave way to a giddy blush, when he said, “I’m- I’m really excited for this.”

Jean’s breath hitched, and he didn’t know why - was it because of the way his eyes bore no barriers, or his sweet smile that lured him in?

Nevertheless, he nodded back, returning a warm smile back to him.

Like that, he jumped into his seat without having to open the door - a feat that made Marco giggle. Revving the car engine rather excitedly, they sped off to their evening together.  
As they continued traveling ahead, civilization began to thin around them; houses that used to tower in and around them were now reduced to only a handful on either side of the road. A handful then turned into a couple, and soon enough, all that could be seen were green fields, dotted with the occasional bunch of trees, continuing as far as the eye could see. Even the vehicles that once clogged the roads like swarms of bees were nowhere to be seen - and thankfully so. By the time the road had emerged clear out of their tiny city, it was as vacant as it had ever been. Jean couldn’t remember the last time he had seen it so clear, so silent. He was glad to live in such a peaceful moment in time - more so, when he realized that he was not living it alone.

The thought made him glance at Marco sneakily. He had his gaze trained to his side, as he looked on at the world around him. By the looks of it, he was too busy gazing at a field of orange tulips dancing in the wind. If it not for the rumbling of his car, Jean might have even heard him sigh with fascination.

Marco was always like that. When all that the others could see were flowers, he would see something much more than that.

Jean smiled despite himself. It brought along a flood of memories, that traced far back in time, all the way till the first day they met. He remembered the occurrence still, as if it had happened only yesterday. Jean had been a middle school student, as fresh and timid as they get, with being as inconspicuous as a shadow as the only intent in his mind - _it would save me all the struggle_ , he’d think. That was how he treated his passion for writing, too; although he loved the feeling of creating worlds full of depth and surprises with nothing but a few strings of words, he never quite had it in himself to share it with everyone. There was something he’d find scary about that prospect - what if nobody liked it? What if they don’t understand what he’d be trying to say? Worst of all - what if they think it's meaningless?  
So he hid it all, and he hid it well, throwing all that he’d write underneath his own shadow. He knew that if he did that more often, then nobody would notice; nobody would loom over his shoulder to judge him.

Well, that was so, until a young boy sitting on a wheelchair came about, with dense freckles dusting his nose and cheeks, and the brightest, most earnest pair of eyes he had ever seen. Jean had been in the middle of writing one story in the library when he had approached him.

“Are you writing something? Like a story?” he had asked, and when he got a nod from him, he gasped. “Oh, cool! What’s it about?” Although his voice had been sickly weak, there was still an honest curiosity behind it, one that caught him off guard.

Jean had been timid still. Biting his lip, he had looked away in embarrassment. He was stuffing his papers inside his bag, as he said, “I-it’s nothing-”

But the boy had not left him at that. In fact, he had reached out to grab Jean’s hand, stopping him from hiding away his precious words into his backpack, away from the judging world.

“But wait!” he had exclaimed. “I really wanna hear your story!”

Jean had been more than confused back then. He had to ask, “Why would you be interested anyway?”

The question was meant to be condescending, but the boy didn’t take it that way. Clutching the silvery arms on either side of him, he had shrugged. “Well… because I like stories. And from the way you never show your stories to anyone, I- I guess I’m curious. Could I hear them? Please?”

Back then, Jean had been baffled. His own parents never took the time to read the stories he ever wrote, much less appreciate them. So why was this stranger so interested?

Nevertheless, he really couldn’t find it in himself to bat the boy away. Instead, he pulled out the crumpled papers from his bag, albeit with his fingers shaking. His voice shook just as much when he read it out loud, but soon enough, he had shared his story with someone - for the first time ever.

Jean still remembered the way the boy had practically lit up with fascination when he was done. He also couldn’t forget the way he had beamed when he introduced himself as Marco Bodt.

Since then, the two had never left each other’s sides, stuck to one another like magnets. Marco soon learned of Jean’s stories; how he loved painting a picture using words, how he felt unstoppable when he’d write. He told him how he only wrote for himself, though; he told him how he refused to share them to anybody simply because it felt as if he were personally opening himself up to others. Jean didn’t like that, never liked that sort of vulnerability one bit.  
“But your stories are amazing,” Marco had told him once. “And stories are meant to be shared, no?”

“But what if I’m sharing more than just a story?” Jean had countered countless of times. “What if it's a piece of me I don’t want to… want to show to others?” And if they reject it all, then what? What’s the point?

And despite everything, Marco had smiled at that too. He had grabbed for Jean’s hand, squeezing it tight.

“But that kind of honesty, the fact that your stories have your essence in them… that is what makes your stories so amazing, Jean - don’t you think?” he had whispered. Jean never forgot the heat that his skin had emanated against his own, never forgot the way his voice had rung with unavoidable truth. And the way his eyes glinted like steel… it only said one thing: _nobody could reject your stories. Nobody could reject you._

Since then, Jean felt drawn towards Marco even more. He talked to him more, shared his stories with him more frequently, and practically never left his side. The confidence he got from his freckled friend was enough for him to muster up the courage to share one of his stories with Mrs. Bodt, once. And the feedback he had gotten then had left him beaming with pride. But it was hard to decide who had had the brighter smile - him, or Marco.  
The days spent together sparked a strange sort of curiosity in Jean; of what Marco was like when nobody was looking, what were his strengths, his weaknesses - how did he end up with a condition that made him unable to walk?

Jean felt afraid when he thought about asking himself; he must have stayed silent for all that time for some reason, after all. And yet, the curiosity couldn’t stop stinging at the back of his throat. It wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t resist. And like that, he made the opportunity himself - he asked.

And after a pause that felt like an eternity, Marco had answered. With a shaky voice, he told him how he used to love running, playing, horse riding, and climbing things when he was little. He also learned how an unfortunate accident damaged his spinal cord. He had been small back then, because of which his chances of survival had been extremely slim in itself. It had been a miracle that he had somehow made it alive - though, not without losing the life in his legs permanently.  
The paralysis could not be treated, and he had to live the rest of his life in a wheelchair. Jean still remembered how shocked he had felt when he got to hear the entire story. He still remembered the way tears had glistened in his eyes when he had finished the entire account.

“I- I won’t lie: when I’d see other people run, and jump, and dance… it sucked,” he had confessed once, back in the last year of highschool. It was nighttime; they had been alone in the bleachers, and the silence that the night had offered gave way to emotions the both of them had felt, but never shared.

He then wiped the corners of his eyes, and continued, “For a time, I was ready to give away everything I had, just so that I could walk again. I started hating how helpless I became, like some useless rag doll. I just- I just grew… miserable.”

The way he seethed at that last word had made Jean’s chest ache. His hands grasped at the wheels of his wheelchair, skin gone stark white, and nails digging deep into the rubber. He could only imagine the pain he might have been feeling - the pain, as well as longing. Nobody deserved something like that - least of all someone like him.

What Marco had said next had surprised him, though:

“But reading your stories… it made me realize something.”

Jean felt his mind go completely blank - in surprise, in shock, in wonder. But Marco continued: “Your stories have these brave, amazing characters, who go through countless adventures. They... live like that, right? You- you make those characters live. And I found out that- that by reading your stories, I end up living with them. And I- I don’t know. Your stories have this- this energy, and reading them made me happy. It somehow made me find other ways to enjoy my life. I started smelling flowers, and enjoying their scents. I- I started listening to birds chirping at 8 AM in the morning, just hearing their own little tunes. I started feeling how warm my mother’s hugs are, making me feel loved. I started seeing the night sky, and then the day. I started seeing the world for what it is, and…”

Jokingly, he smacked his forehead. He then giggled. “And- and then, I finally understood - I don’t need to be able to walk, to truly live. I can live by loving the world.”

Then, he had turned his head, to stare at Jean. His brown eyes glistened with so much emotion, yet showed no sign of weakness. “Your stories helped me understand that, Jean. And I’m- I’m forever grateful for that.”

Jean still remembered the way his heart had hammered against his ribcage, his breath leaving his lungs entirely. He still remembered the way a realization had dawned upon him: he might be falling for his friend.

It felt as if he were wrenched out of his state of reverie, when a strong gust of wind blew over the car. His hair ruffled in the crisp air, and Jean tilted his face towards the current. A half an hour drive gave the sky the chance to darken, morphing into a deep blue. Although the sun had retired for the day, the horizon was still alight, glowing a bright orange, as if fires lined its edges. That was when he saw Marco lift his arm in the air. When Jean glanced at him, he saw how he opened the palm of his hand, and felt the wind against him. He saw the way he twisted his wrist, and twirled his fingers, making his hand dance in the air, feeling the wind slip through his skin like silk. He saw how he smiled as if he had just won the entire world.

Marco was like that; he always tried finding happiness in even the smallest of things in life. Even when life gave him countless reasons to give up, he’d always find a reason to live.

Jean couldn't help but smile.

 

* * *

 

“Are we there now?”

“You're asking that for, like, the fifth time in one minute. I’d call that a record.”

“H-hey! Well, you can’t blame me!”

“Like I said for the fifth time, we’re almost there!” Jean laughed. As he turned the car around, though, he had to tell Marco, “But from here, I’m gonna need you to close your eyes.”

As expected, Marco folded his arms in rejection, not without a roll of his eyes. “That’s so clichéd, Jean.”

“I don’t care - you’re gonna have to close them!”

“You won't dump a water balloon at me, will you?”

“Wha-? God, _no_ , no I won't! And that was only because you put itching powder in my pants before that!”

That tickled at Marco, for he threw his head back in laughter. Jean ignored the way his stomach did flip flops, and instead pressed on, “Relax, Marco. This is just a surprise I wanna give you.”

Jean heard him humph from his wheelchair. But when he heard him say a soft _’okay’_ , he felt relieved. Now that he had his eyes closed, all that was left was to take him there. It wasn’t long before Jean stepped on the brakes, abruptly stopping just before a thick wall of trees. Their trunks must have been as wide as two people standing abreast, as they blocked the view of anything beyond.

“Why are we stopping…?” Marco asked warily.

“We’re here,” answered Jean, as he stepped out of the car to bring its roof up and over the car.

As he was double checking their restraints, he heard Marco speak. “Okay, then. I can open my eyes now-”

“No - nuh, uh, uh!” Jean cut straight away. Slamming his door shut, he walked towards Marco’s side. Opening his door for him, he said, “Your surprise isn’t here yet!”

Crouching, he grabbed both his legs, lifting them so that they hung out of the edge of the car. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Marco grimace - there it was, his brave mask faltering ever so slightly; there, he saw the man who supported Jean in his life crumble ever so softly in his own helplessness.  
Others might not have noticed it. Marco himself always denied ever betraying his emotions so openly like that. But then, he didn't see himself the way Jean does - nobody did. Nobody knew the way he’d bite his cheek whenever anyone so much as glanced at his way, nobody understood the way his fingers quivered whenever others helped him onto his seat. Nobody could tell by the subtle shifts of his stare, that there was a constant realization nudging at him - that he couldn’t use his legs. That he was dependant.

The slight thought made Jean grip the wheelchair tightly, the cool metal slipping beneath his skin. The last thing he wanted him to feel was utter hopelessness, and crippling helplessness. He’s always had my back, whenever I couldn't handle life, he thought to himself. His eyes were tracing the worn out rubber tires, as he thought one thing: why must he be alone in his pain?

Swallowing thickly, he lifted the wheelchair, pulling it open, and placing it upright before Marco. Then, he ducked in front of him. As he reached out to grab his waist, he saw Marco stiffen. The sight saddened Jean, and he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want him to recoil away from help. He didn’t want him to curl into himself, avoiding everyone in fear of indifference, of rejection. He didn’t want Marco to deal with his suffering like that - not alone.

He didn’t want Marco to be alone.

Sighing softly, he ignored the way he stiffened the closer he got to him, ignored the way he was so warm beneath his palms. Curling his arms around his waist, he hoisted him out of the car with a slight grunt.

Even though Marco had his arms curled around his neck, he had turned his face the other way. His eyes were screwed shut, as he stayed loyal to his oath. But the way his eyebrows furrowed at the center, the way there were lines etching the corners of his mouth, curling into a frown - it was undeniable.

As he placed him on his wheelchair, he felt the pure honesty tumble out of his mouth:

“I got you, Marco.”

And from the way his eyebrows relaxed themselves, the way he stopped clutching hard at Jean’s shoulders, instead just resting his hands upon them, and from the way his lips quirked ever so slightly into a smile, Jean knew that he heard. That he understood.

And that was all he wanted, all he needed.

From there, Jean insisted he could push Marco ahead, taking him where he needed to be. Though reluctant at first, his freckled friend soon gave in. Hence, with his hands gripping the handles tight, he led him to his surprise.  
The woods might have looked threatening to anyone looking on for the first time, with tall trees standing guard. Most might have glanced away, afraid of encountering some dangerous creatures if they walked too close, got too lost within the wilderness. Many might never step a foot inside - they couldn’t possibly find anything interesting within a place as dark and inconspicuous like that, could they?

Well, that was for those who didn’t know how to look.

Jean maneuvered Marco through the seemingly daunting trees, rather expertly. He knew which paths were slippery beneath one’s feet, and which had paths so rocky you’d trip and fall; he knew which curled towards creeks and ditches, and which led to simpler places with thinner trees, and a floor covered with leaves. He knew which places were inconspicuous, repetitive, plain to the eyes. He also knew which places were different, were much more than what the eyes could see - he knew which places were special.

He was panting by the time they stopped. It was then that he spoke: “Open your eyes, Marco.”

Once Marco did, he gasped.

And why wouldn't he? The trees that had once blocked their path now gave way to a vast, marvellous meadow, with wild grass reaching as high as Jean’s shins. The blades swayed in the subtle wind, moving to and fro as if they were alive. What was more, as they looked beyond, they could see the moon shedding light over what seemed to be a pool of water. The soft beams reflected off of its rippling surface, glimmering like a sea of diamonds. It was all immensely beautiful.

As Jean walked ahead, he heard the crackling of grass beneath his shoes. With that, he also heard Marco stutter, “W-wow, Jean… this is- how did you- how did you find this place?”

“It was more by chance than anything else, really,” he answered, digging his hands in his pockets. “Sometimes, I’d get out of the house, clear out of the city, just to… just to clear my mind. The street where I live is always noisy, always so full of people, and I don’t know… One day, I drove, and kept on driving till my car ran out of gas. That was when I parked around this place, and that was when-”

“When you found this place,” completed Marco. He huffed a breath of amused laughter, as he pushed himself beside Jean. Looking up to him, he asked ahead, “Well, if you came here by chance, then what made you stay?”

What made me stay indeed? Jean asked himself that once, twice, and then once more. Maybe it had been the weather. Maybe it had been the silence and tranquility that place offered. But then…

“I stayed because I- I could write here,” he said. “This meadow, the trees, even the birds living in them, and all the like… it gave me some spark, something I couldn’t find when I’d have to lock myself up in my room, so that my parents couldn’t see what I was doing. Nobody knew this place; I’d be alone here, and I couldn’t be judged. I could write all the stories I wanted, even read them out loud if I had to, and no one could tell me what to do. It-it's hard to explain, but… but this place reminded me of-”

“...of Neverland?” said Marco, taking the exact words right out of Jean’s heart.

(With all the walls he had built around his mind, with all the chains with which he had bound his heart - how could he understand him so well?)

It was so sudden, Jean snapped his gaze straight at Marco, he who only looked on with a soft, friendly smile. He continued, “Yeah, I figured. Peter Pan’s Neverland: a wondrous place where every child wants to live forever, away from responsibilities, and away from nosy parents.” When he realised what he had just said, he quickly added: “O-of course, that doesn't totally apply to your family!”

Jean couldn't help but laugh at Marco’s sudden spurt of nerves. When he noticed Marco having stopped his wheelchair beside him, he crossed his legs, sitting over them.  
He tipped his head back, gazing at his freckled friend. The pale moonlight struck his features finely, filling in all the curves and crevices that make up his friendly face, adding an unknown depth to those brown pools he called eyes. They made his spatter of freckles glow like stars etched onto yet another galaxy.

Ignoring the way his heart hammered against his ribcage like a restless bird, he looked up at the other stars, instead. He traced the obscure patterns they made with his eyes. After a thoughtful pause, he began:

“Technically, you're right about that - I do like this place because I don’t have to- to be someone I’m not in front of my parents, and I’d also love to stay here forever, without the slightest care of the world. But… but that's not the only thing. It’s like Neverland, because it's beautiful; it's not dirty like the city streets, and it's not congested, not- not impure. It’s free of noise, free of fake people, free of lies, and hatred, and jealousy. It’s as if it’s-”

“It’s not even a part of this- this cruel world.”

Of course Marco said that. Of course he knew what Jean was thinking. _Of course_ , he thought. _It’s always been him. Always._

He heard him sigh beside him slowly. “That’s… true. I understand what you mean. When I stepped in here, it felt as if I weren’t even on earth anymore. It’s definitely quieter, better. It’s way more… special.”

Jean smiled down at his hands. “You always know what’s on my mind, Marco.”

He expected Marco to laugh at that; he expected him to make a joke out of his moment of honesty, so as to break the sudden, steely aura. He expected him to say something intelligible at least - but he only heard him gasp:

“Jean! Wh-what’s that?”

Marco pointed his first finger just ahead of him. When Jean followed his line of sight, he smiled.

“Why, that’s your surprise.”

Only a few feet ahead of them, hidden within the thick folds of grass, was a ball of light so small it couldn’t have been bigger than a full stop. It glimmered for only five seconds, making it seem as if it didn't even really exist.  
But then, there came another ball of light beside it. And then another, then another, and then ten more altogether. It was not long before the entire meadow turned into a field of glowing balls of light, stretching throughout the entire clearing, gleaming white amidst the dark green floor. With the way the night darkened the world around them, it felt as if stars had descended from up above, lighting up their seemingly dull world.

Jean didn’t know what was better: the fact that his plan was going so well, or Marco’s gasps of surprise as it continued on.

“Are- are they-”

“Fireflies? Yeah,” Jean answered. He looked around himself, comforted to spy more of those tiny glowy spots around them. “This is kinda like their home, really. When they’re done for the day, they settle within the grass, hiding. They wait for the night to come, when the sun’s vanished for about an hour. That’s when it gets dark enough for them to light up. I only noticed this a few days ago, and I… I couldn’t help but love this place even more. I- I don’t know why, but it made me want to stay. Ah, that just sounds dumb…”

Jean laughed nervously, covering up the embarrassment he felt while opening up so suddenly. But then, Marco did the same. He then said:

“Maybe that’s the point of beautiful places like this - they make you feel good. They make you feel special. Do you really need any other reason to stay?”

Jean looked at Marco, and Marco looked back. The smallest of smiles graced his lips, a smile Jean could have called shy, if it weren’t for the way his eyes seemed so solid, so real - so sure that the Universe was really giving the two of them some respite from their lives. Those deep, brown pools were always so true, so unnervingly honest with what they expressed, as they glowed. If Jean looked for just one moment longer, he was afraid he’d only fall in love with him deeper than he had ever before.

But he was already there.

 _Say it,_ he thought _. Say the one thing you’ve been wanting to tell him, the one thing that has always been true, always made sense. Just say it._

The thought was there in his mind. The nervous energy was buzzing within his nerves, making his fingers quiver with excitement. The words were there, building up at the back of his throat till it almost ached. The moment was just about to arrive, all he had to do was open his mouth, and speak.

He parted his lips - but then he was interrupted by a gust of wind.

It was strong, pulling and tugging at the clothes he wore, and ruffling up his hair. Using an arm to guard his face against the oncoming current, he blinked blearily, looking through a veil of tears to see the fireflies waving to and fro, in time with the intense gusts of air.

It was only a matter of moments before they all took flight, emerging from the grass, and disappearing in the air.

Jean cursed. “Fuck, they- they’re leaving, no, no, no.” His plan was going perfectly, it was all going so smoothly. The fireflies were still, they glowed, and Marco enjoyed them. They couldn’t leave so soon, they couldn’t ruin this for him. He didn’t drag him this far out of the city for this.  
Clutching his hair, he ducked his head, in embarrassment, in devastation, in disappointment. “Argh, everything’s ruined…”

“Hey, Jean-”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry for dragging you out here for- for nothing.”

“Jean-”

“I said I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have wasted your time like this-”

This time, Jean wasn’t interrupted by words, but by a hand smacking the back of his head.  
Yowling, he rubbed the sore spot. “What the hell was that for?” he complained.

“That’s for not listening to me,” Marco stressed. “Look, Jean!”

Finally, Jean stopped drowning himself in self pity, and instead lifted his gaze to stare at the meadow he once called special.

What he actually saw surprised him.

The fireflies that once hid within the dark forest floor had escaped out into the open. But they still glowed, even in midair; they whizzed past one another at high speeds, looking like little rays of sunlight dancing to a tune of their own. Suddenly, all the fireflies began circling over the meadow, in time with the circular currents of the wind. They floated like specks made of light, hovering over the rippling pond. All at once, they circled higher and higher, synchronising perfectly with the steady air, till they made a tower of twinkling lights. Jean felt his mouth fall open; it looked so much different than when they’d hide behind trees, and underneath the earth. _No, this is eye catching, it's different. They’re like-_

“They’re like… stars that fell down here, but now they’re returning back to space. ‘S almost as if the Universe shed them down… for us. As if the Universe’s giving us a chance to love the world a little more. Almost as if- as if it’s wanting us to live.”

Jean looked at Marco, but this time, Marco didn’t look back. He only stared on, with his neck craning upwards, and his head cocked to a side. All his eyes focused on was the column of fireflies, lighting up the dark night as well as the moon. The lights they released cast shadows that whizzed across his face, and they lit up the freckles across the bridge of his nose. He was smiling the purest of smiles, teeth bared with pure glee; the words he had spoken didn’t even seem deliberate - it was almost as if he were simply thinking out loud. And the way his eyes looked now… It might have outshone the sun.

For a moment, nothing mattered; the forest around them, the dancing fireflies, the way his heartbeat echoed within his chest - none of it mattered. Only he did.

(But then, hasn’t it always been like that?)

With each thud of his heart against his ribcage, one thought resonated through him: _Say it. Say it. Tell him._

_Say it. Tell him that he means everything to you._

_Say it. Tell him that you’ve never met anyone like him._

_Tell him that you love him-_

Suddenly, Marco shook his head. “Ah, look at that,” he said. “Look at me t-talking like that without even thinking… silly me!”

He slapped his forehead lightly, as a joke. But there was nothing funny in the way he hooded his gaze below. There was no humour in the way his hands clenched in his lifeless lap.

Jean felt him clutch his own hands. “I didn’t think it was silly.”

It was merely a whisper, a thought he worded almost unconsciously - but his friend asked, “Huh…?”

Nails began to dig deep into his palms. Biting his lip, he repeated himself: “I said I… I didn’t think it was silly.”

“How come?” he scoffed. He waved a hand up in the air, motioning at the night around us. “To think that the Universe might’ve put some effort into wanting just the two of us to have a good time - that’s a little, how do I say… a little too good to be true?”

He sighed when he realized what Marco was saying: all that he said could not be true. Why would the Universe put so much effort into two seemingly plain, helpless people like them? How could their world, a world known to be cruel and vile in its ways, remember to be kind to it’s inhabitants?

Jean couldn’t come up with an answer. He couldn’t conjure an argument, telling him that you’re wrong. Words that once came so easily to him failed to even show up in his brain then. Wracking his mind for some sense, some meaning, he had to remind Marco that hey, you’re not insignificant. You’re anything but. But he couldn’t.

He could, however, look up.

“Look up," he ordered.

Marco could only scrunch his nose in confusion. “ _‘Look up?’_ Why? I already know what’s happening-”

“Just do it.”

Jean knew he had followed his order when he heard him sigh despite himself.

“Y’see,” he began, wrapping his arms around his knees, “you might be true; the world, despite being so beautiful, just might be too cruel to even care about people like us. For all we know, we’re nothing but grains of sand in front of the Universe. But… but after seeing miracles like this…”

He lost track of what he wanted to say, for he was too enraptured by the sight before him. The stars etched onto the velvety black sky was nothing compared to the mass of fireflies circling the surface of the lake still. dancing as if it were the last night of their tiny lives. And right there, when he could see their swiveling lights, hear the crickets chirping behind them, smell the scent of earth beneath them, and feel the energy buzzing around them, he couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Then, he glanced at Marco. “It kinda makes you think otherwise, huh?”

_Say it. Say it. Tell him, Jean. Tell him that you need him-_

What he didn’t expect was to be interrupted by Marco’s laughter.

And his giggles cut through the silence of the night, resonating through the entire clearing. They penetrated Jean, till even he felt giddy. Marco quitened himself with a hand to his mouth. Then, he sighed.

“Damn, you never really give me a reason to argue, huh?” He ran a hand through his hair, saying, “Seeing you riled up like this was… nice. I like seeing you this lively.”

Heat flooded Jean’s cheeks like a tidal wave, as he bit his tongue in order to keep himself from spouting anything either too stupid or too confusing. He only averted his gaze, instead growing intent on staring at a grass flower upon the forest floor. But he couldn’t help but spy at the tiny smile Marco smiled, right from the corner of his eyes.

“It’s always when I’m around you.”

With a start, Jean meets Marco’s eyes. It wasn’t until he heard Marco gasp, that he realized - I just said that out loud.

Oh, fuck.

Palms sweating, he wiped them against his thighs once, twice, before placing them on the mossy forest floor. The cold dew stuck to his skin, but he couldn’t worry for once, not when Marco stared at him as if he were the only one that mattered.

Then, there was no hesitation. There was no resistance. The fact was crystal clear in his eyes, the way they glimmered with not just mirth, not just happiness, not just surprise. It was true, it was certain, it was inevitable - there was no turning back: he just told him that he was the reason why he could be so energetic, so real. Marco was the reason why he loved life.

It was just a tiny step away, now; all that was left between him and the truth was a breath’s distance, an emptiness that needed nothing but a nudge to finish it. All that was needed was just a spur of confidence, of craziness, of recklessness. All that was needed was just three words.

Instead, he said, “I’ve got another surprise for you.”

Marco didn’t balk in surprise. He only smiled a little, when he asked, “Another surprise…?”

“For you.”

“Hm,” he laughed, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Can I see it, then?”

Jean was surprised how his voice didn't shake when he said, “Close your eyes.”

Marco, being the obedient one, didn't hesitate to close his eyes this time. Although he did bite his lip as he did, fighting a smile that might have cracked his face in two if he were to let it go.

Once his eyes slid close, ever so slowly, Jean sighed. It’s now or never.

He lifted himself off of the ground, sitting on his knees instead. After that, all he had to do was crawl closer to Marco. The grass crackled beneath him, and the rustling wind didn’t quieten his trek either. But Jean wasn’t bothered, not when he saw Marco clench his fists tighter in his lap the closer he got.

Closer, closer, and closer he came, stopping only when he was a breath’s distance away from Marco. He might have felt his presence, for Marco shied away ever so slightly, ducking his face. It showed Jean how he anticipated the surprise, but couldn’t accept it. From the way he screwed his eyes shut tighter than before, and from the way his whole face grew pink, one thing was clear - Marco wanted his surprise, but didn’t think that he deserved it.

After that, there was nothing stopping him.

Without another doubt, Jean leaned close, and kissed Marco on the cheek. Once, he kissed him, panicking when he felt him freeze. But when he pressed his lips against his cheek again, and once more, Jean was pleased to feel him relax.  
A suppressed breath of air puffed out of him when Jean scattered a few more kisses, trailing them down his cheek, towards his chin. When he got closer to the corner of his lips, Marco froze again, grasping him by the arm. Nails dug into his forearm, as he started breathing shakily.

Jean didn’t back away. Pressing their foreheads together, he requested:

“Open your eyes, Marco.”

“Can’t.”

That caught him off guard. “Can’t? W-why?”

To that, Marco only chuckled, a puff of warm breath against his face. He still didn’t open his eyes, when he said, “Because none of this can be r-real, can it? If- if I open my eyes, this might disappear.”

He shook his head in pure denial. “No, no- this is real, Marco-”

”But this was Neverland, remember?” he reminded, his voice trembling. “Y-you said that yourself. And that's nothing but a fairytale…”

It felt as if someone were stabbing his heart repeatedly. Nothing could compare to the pain he felt when he heard him say that he couldn’t believe that it was true - he couldn’t believe that there was someone out there who actually loved him for the way he was. Jean couldn’t bare the thought that someone like Marco could never see himself deserving love.

Jean wanted nothing but for him to believe otherwise.

All logical thinking, all thoughts, doubts, anxieties, and regrets flew completely out of the window, when he tilted his face ever so slightly, and kissed Marco.

When their lips met, it felt as if fireworks popped and whizzed inside his stomach, and butterflies buzzed inside his chest. It felt as if he were drowning and floating at the same time, and his fingers shook with how much he had waited for this moment, how much he loved the feel of Marco soft and sighing and _kissing him back like that._ His hands gripped at Jean’s crewneck, fingers digging into the soft fabric as he held on. Feeling him cling closer to him drove Jean crazy. Helplessly, he cupped his jaw, kissing him again, and again, and again, tasting his lips dizzyingly, getting lost into him entirely.

It was only after forever that they broke apart, slowly and surely. Jean opened his eyes, then - and was glad to see Marco do the same.

When he opened his eyes, Jean saw that hesitation glimmering in his eyes - just a slight one, but it was there, persistent. Sighing, Jean began running the pad of his thumb across his cheek, feeling the heat creep up beneath his warm, smooth skin. He let Marco savor the moment, let him breathe within his space, let him accept whatever he made him feel. The last thing he wanted was to make him feel forced into everything.

As the silence persisted on, Jean saw how Marco’s breathing returned to normal. He noticed how the rigidness in his bones somehow melted into nothingness, as he began leaning into his touch a little more. He felt the way he grew more comfortable, until there was no hesitance in him anymore. For a moment, nothing held him back.

Smiling, Jean met Marco’s brown, beautiful eyes. “This is true. I know it’s sudden, a-and it’s scary, but… but you changed me. You helped me love the life I lived, made me think I'm so much more than a bag of bones. S-so, so all that I feel for you - all of this - it’s… it's honest. It’s real.”

There came that flicker of doubt, flitting behind his iris like a candle in the wind. But then, it dimmed when Marco smiled. Nodding, he said, “I- I… this is a little surprising, yeah, and… and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I don't feel the same for you.”

Jean’s heart roared in his chest, skin tingling as he nudged their noses together. Then, Marco raised his hands, resting then upon his shoulders softly.

Gripping them gently, he spoke: “I’ll admit I- I never expected this. I never really… really thought anyone would want me, but…” He broke into a light giggle, as he smiled. “God, for some reason, I- I believe you, Jean. I believe you.”

Jean’s heart skipped a beat, then. That’s all I need.

After that, there was no stopping him: wordlessly, he bridged the gap between them once more, kissing him again. And this time, Marco didn’t hold back, either. He wound his arms around his neck, holding him so much closer, gripping him so much tighter. Before he knew it, Jean was lost - and he didn’t want to be found.

He was glad that his surprise turned out to be a miracle.

**Author's Note:**

> U can follow me on [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/kirschtrash) and [Tumblr](http://kirschtrash.tumblr.com), too! If u liked this fic, let me know in the comments! I'm open for criticism as well, yknow ;u;
> 
> Until next time, take care!


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